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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27271390">I Need Practice Being Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebeccastceir/pseuds/rebeccastceir'>rebeccastceir</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>An End. A Beginning.  - MOOD BOARD [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Overwatch (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Culture Shock, Former Scion Hanzo Shimada, Friendship, Friendship/Love, M/M, Scion Hanzo Shimada</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:55:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,456</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27271390</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebeccastceir/pseuds/rebeccastceir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The first few times he felt it, Hanzo didn’t even know what it was; just a crushing uneasiness in his chest that made him want to crawl into a hole and scream. He had to excuse himself and take refuge in his room, had to wad himself up in the corner with his hands over his ears. The second time he had refused. He sat on the bed, and told himself it was better.</p><p>It wasn’t better.</p><p>--<br/>Hanzo's having trouble settling into Overwatch. Maybe there's someone else on base who feels the same.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>An End. A Beginning.  - MOOD BOARD [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2002075</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>152</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Need Practice Being Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first few times he felt it, Hanzo didn’t even know what it was; just a crushing uneasiness in his chest that made him want to crawl into a hole and scream. He’d been at Watchpoint: Gibraltar for a few months now, he was still settling in. And it just…<em>crashed</em> over him, while he was sitting in the common room, listening to everyone speak. He had to excuse himself and take refuge in his room, combat the urge to wad himself up in the corner with his hands over his ears. The first time he <em>had done</em> it. The second time he had refused. He sat on the bed, and told himself it was better.</p><p>It wasn’t better.</p><p>The room was too small. Too tight. Too foreign.</p><p>It felt like his skin.</p><p>It wasn’t any better the third time.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next few times the feeling had come, he’d taken refuge on the shooting range, firing arrow after arrow, at target after target, until his body was weary, and he missed more targets than he hit. But his brain was still racing whenever he dropped focus. He couldn’t stay out. But sleep eluded him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He noticed the third time on the range that he had an observer. Part of him screamed at the intrusion. Gods, was there <em>nowhere</em> on this whole wretched base he could get away from them all? But his observer didn’t speak, and left when it was clear Hanzo was done for the night. It happened three more times, until Hanzo finally looked at the clock, and realized his observer must have as much trouble sleeping as he did. He never looked back at them.</p><p>He didn’t need to.</p><p>It was enough to know there was <em>one</em> person in this whole wretched base who was as restless as he was.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next time it happened was in the middle of a mission; an overwhelming dysphoria that nearly knocked him off the roof, left him gasping and breathless. Anxiety, Angela told him later. Possibly social anxiety. The base didn’t have a psychiatrist, all she could do for him was offer medication. Hanzo had declined, as politely as possible. Medication might help the symptoms, but he suspected there was no cure at all for the <em>cause</em>.</p><p>He felt like he didn’t belong.</p><p>He felt like he didn’t belong because he <em>didn’t.</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next time it happened there were omnics on the roof, dragons swirling in a rage - and Hanzo, the proverbial eye of the hurricane, feeling lost as a child.</p><p>“Nice day for a picnic, ain’t it?” Jesse drawled at him, grinning from ear to ear.</p><p>Gods, Hanzo could even <em>hear</em> him grinning. How was that even <em>possible</em>?</p><p>He looked over. Jesse was hunkered down beside him, behind a monstrous A/C unit they were using for cover, leaning out every now and then to fire at the Talon agents who were using the chaos for their own advantage. Jesse looked back at him, at that precise moment, mouth wide and grinning, eyes soft and sympathetic. As if he <em>knew -</em></p><p>Hanzo felt his world drop.</p><p>As if he <em>knew.</em></p><p>Hanzo opened his mouth. Felt that drop <em>anchor</em> him, felt himself <em>pivot</em> around it. “It is indeed a lovely day,” he nodded, blinking. Focus returning to the chaos around them.</p><p>“I like target practice,” Jesse grinned. “Don’ you?”</p><p>Hanzo nocked an arrow and stood. “I find it exilarating. Especially when there are so many moving targets.”</p><p>Jesse stood with him. “I’m gonna have Winston program a trainin' simulation like this,” he said conversationally, firing several more rounds, dropping Talon agents and omnics with every one. “When things get slow at the base - it’ll be nice to have sum’in’ to do.”</p><p>Hanzo nodded. “It would be…a relief.”</p><p>“There’s such a thing as <em>too much</em> relaxation,” Jesse agreed.</p><p>And gods.</p><p>Wasn’t <em>that</em> his problem.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next time it happened, Hanzo <em>knew</em> what his problem was.</p><p>The problem was, there wasn’t anyone around to help.</p><p>He’d been left behind - some minor injury that he barely even felt - would never have even slowed down for - but Angela refused to release him until he was healed. He had snapped at her - <em>raged</em> - that he was Shimada Hanzo, scion of the Shimada <em>yakuza</em>, he did not <em>slow down</em> for mere <em>sprained wrists</em>.</p><p>“<em>Sprained wrists</em> in an <em>archer</em> get people <em>killed</em>, <em>scion</em>,” she’d all but sneered.</p><p>And the cage door had slammed tight, banging his nose.</p><p> </p><p>He’d snarled and paced through the Watchpoint like a tiger, until they’d all returned.</p><p>Paced some more.</p><p>Gave them all time to shower, change clothes.</p><p>A half hour. No more. He would climb out of his skin if he waited any longer.</p><p>He knocked on the door.</p><p> </p><p>Jesse answered in a cloud of soap-scented humidity, clean flannel and soft blue jeans, hair messy and damp. He looked surprised. He smelled warm. “Hey, Hanzo. What’s up?”</p><p>Hanzo tried to look anywhere but at his broad chest. It was difficult. It took up most of his view. “I need… <em>help</em>,” he managed. Now that he was here, the words sounded ridiculous. He shouldn’t even speak them at all.</p><p>“Help?” Jesse repeated. He sounded patient. “With what?”</p><p>Hanzo tried to wipe the nervousness down his own chest, to scrub the unease off his palms. It didn’t work. He looked up. “Being me.”</p><p>Jesse, thank the ancestors, understood.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They grabbed sake and a beer, and Jesse’s clean serape, went up on the roof, some little tower Jesse’d found. “I like it up here,” he said. “Great view. <em>Quiet</em>.” He said it as though he’d sought it for his own reasons. As if he wasn’t reading Hanzo’s every thought. “Reminds me a’ home. You’re makin’ me nervous, sittin’ on the edge like ‘at, though.”</p><p>Hanzo dangled his legs over the side, swinging his feet through the void, arms against the lower rung of the rail. Jesse was pressed back against the spire, platform under every inch of him. There was a <em>reason</em> they didn’t make Jesse the sniper. “I can see why you like it,” Hanzo admitted, ignoring his complaint. “The view is… spectacular.”</p><p>Because it was. The city of Gibraltar, sweeping down to the coast, the Mediterranean sparkling like diamonds across sapphire silk. And <em>quiet</em>. So blissfully <em>quiet</em> Hanzo could get lost in it. He closed his eyes, put his head down on his crossed arms. It wasn’t Hanamura. It didn’t <em>look </em>or <em>smell</em> or <em>feel</em> or even <em>taste</em> like Hanamura. And even with his eyes closed, even as <em>quiet</em> as it was, he could <em>hear</em> that it wasn’t Hanamura. But it -</p><p>It was <em>nice</em>.</p><p>He was grateful Jesse let him have it for a while.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Eventually Hanzo heard movement beside him, Jesse creeping up toward the rail. He felt a warm hand in the middle of his back. A warm voice.</p><p>“Wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”</p><p>Hanzo let his eyes drift open, let his gaze settle on the boats, out in the harbor, out in the strait. He told him. He told him that he had spent his entire life being groomed for the Shimada <em>yakuza</em>. That he had <em>wanted</em> it. He had taken <em>pride</em> in his position. That it was more than just being a criminal. That he had run his territory like a benevolent despot - pouring many more resources than necessary into caring for the poor, providing good education, infrastructure, hospitals, making sure his organizations kept <em>order</em> and <em>peace</em> and <em>safety</em>. <em>Jobs</em>. The businesses of the Shimada <em>yakuza</em>, even just the legal ones, had provided more <em>jobs</em> and better pay than any other single organization in the district. For some reason that he could not name, it was <em>important</em> to him that Jesse - that <em>someone</em> other than Genji - understood that. He had defended his territory, his <em>people</em>, like a viper.</p><p>The shock he had felt when Blackwatch tore it all away had left him reeling.</p><p>He was still reeling.</p><p>Genji had recovered, mostly. Tekhartha Zenyatta, meditation and reflection.</p><p>Hanzo had tried them. He got no such peace.</p><p>“You’re a man of action,” Jesse murmured.</p><p>Hanzo nodded. “My entire life I have been…<em>busy</em>. I have… made <em>decisions</em>. I have gone to school. Trained at archery. Run businesses and empires. Now I sit at other men’s leisure. I am pointed like a wind-up toy and set loose. But I am… <em>aimless</em>.” He scrubbed his face. “I feel like an arrow in the hands of a child. Some days I could <em>scream</em> with frustration. The me that I must be here…” he shook his head. “He did not <em>exist</em> a year ago. And the me that I was a year ago does not know how to die.”</p><p> </p><p>He put his head down on his hands. Looked at Jesse. “What do I <em>do?</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Jesse’s finger curled a strand of hair away from his face, smoothed it down along his back, his own short hair dancing in the breeze. The warmth of his hand was something to focus on, tugging like an anchor at his scattered thoughts. “I grew up jus’ the opposite,” he said eventually, voice raspy and quiet. He leaned his elbow on the rail, chin on his forearm. His gaze traveled past Hanzo’s face, out over the city. “Parents died when I was little, on my own since I was a teenager. I joined gangs, one after the other, moved around, nowhere settled, not until I joined Deadlock. From there to Blackwatch. Blackwatch to here. I never much plan beyond today. I never much think about the future.” He coughed out a laugh. “I think this is the longest I even been in one place - <em>come back</em> to one place, at any rate. First time, maybe, that I even have <em>friends.</em> Y’know? People I can rely on? Mercy and Winston and Reinhardt and the kids.” His gaze roamed, even if his body didn’t. “Some days I get the itch. Gotta <em>go</em>. Gotta find someplace <em>new</em>. Gettin’ too comfortable. Startin’ to make <em>plans</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“What kind of plans?” Hanzo asked.</p><p>“Oh.” Jesse’s eyes roamed around his face. His hand, broad and warm, roamed around his back. “Plans.”</p><p>He didn’t elaborate.</p><p>Maybe he didn’t need to. “How do you handle it? The urge to run?”</p><p>Jesse nodded around at the tower. “Come up here. When Winston’s got the gate open, I go into town. Surround myself with people I don’ know. Remind myself I’m here because I choose to be. Lie, and tell myself it’s because of them. Really I think it’s cuz of me.”</p><p>“Does it help?”</p><p>“Sometimes.”</p><p>“What do you do when it doesn’t?”</p><p>Jesse’s eyes roamed around his face again. “Go down to the shooting range.”</p><p>They looked at each other for a while.</p><p> </p><p>“Sometimes I feel like I could climb out of my skin with insanity,” Hanzo admitted.</p><p>“Well, don’ do that,” Jesse drawled. “Angela’d be mad she had to stuff you back in.”</p><p>The mental image made them both laugh.</p><p> </p><p>Hanzo looked at Jesse for a long time.</p><p> </p><p>“Jesse, take me downstairs and have sex with me.”</p><p>“No.” But it didn’t sound like rejection. Jesse smoothed another strand of hair. Opened his mouth as if he were afraid of the words. “If I took you downstairs,” he began, voice husky and thick, looking away, “it wouldn’t be for sex. I’d just… wash you with kisses.”</p><p>Hanzo’s eyes slid shut.</p><p>It sounded like <em>heaven</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“But I ain’t gonna do it,” Jesse murmured.</p><p>Hanzo’s eyes opened again. “Why not?”</p><p>“Cuz I don’t think I’d ever get over it.”</p><p> </p><p>Jesse’s hand brushed his temple, fingers cupping the back of his head, gently massaging his neck.</p><p>Hanzo felt the noise rise in his throat before he could stop it. He didn’t <em>want</em> to stop it.</p><p>The growly purr of contentment.</p><p>But Jesse was right.</p><p>He wasn’t ready yet.</p><p>It wasn’t time.</p><p> </p><p>“One thing I will do, though,” Jesse said. He stood, then. Took one of Hanzo’s hands in his and tugged him to his feet. Kept it, as he put the other hand around his waist and brought him near. “Space for Jesus,” he chuckled, as he kept room between their hips. “’S what they always told us in school.” He winked. He began to sway.</p><p>“What is this, then?” Hanzo asked him.</p><p>“Dancin’,” Jesse admitted. “But I ain’t too good at it.”</p><p>Hanzo closed the distance, put his head down on Jesse’s chest. “You’re better at it than I.”</p><p>They stayed like that for a long time.</p><p> </p><p>Eventually Jesse started to hum, some old tune Hanzo didn’t recognize.</p><p>It sounded like his heartbeat.</p><p>It felt like his own.</p><p> </p><p>They stayed like that for a long time, just swaying, arms around each other, swayed as gently and easily as the tower in the breeze. Hanzo’s skin didn’t feel quite so small.</p><p>“Thank you,” he said finally, voice muffled against Jesse’s chest.</p><p>“Anytime,” Jesse offered, and Hanzo knew he could take him up on it.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They stayed until dusk. Until Athena chimed the hour for lockdown.</p><p>Jesse walked him downstairs. If one of his fingers got up the courage to curl around one of Hanzo’s, neither of them were willing to ruin the moment by mentioning it. Neither of them were willing to ruin it by letting go.</p><p>Most everyone was in bed, or in the common room. They avoided both easily.</p><p>Eventually they stopped at Hanzo’s door.</p><p>“I’m gonna drop ya here, darlin’,” Jesse murmured. They both knew why. He <em>did</em> thread his fingers through Hanzo’s then, brought his hand up to kiss the back of it. “I’m glad ya found me.”</p><p>Hanzo felt something go quiet, in his chest. Felt something spring to life alongside it. He nodded. “I am, too.” He looked for something else to say. Saw nothing but Jesse’s chest in his view. “Your serape is…<em>softer</em>… than I expected.”</p><p>Jesse smiled at that, a faint blush coloring up his cheeks. “Thanks.” He grinned shyly and took his hand back, stuffing them down in his pockets. “See ya tomorrow, then.”</p><p>Hanzo nodded. “Until tomorrow.”</p><p>With a last grin Jesse turned away.</p><p>Hanzo watched him go.</p><p>Jesse walked slow, rubbing the back of his neck, turning around three or four times, smiling every time when he saw Hanzo, every time.</p><p>Hanzo waited until he turned the corner, and then went inside.</p><p> </p><p>His room was still small. Still barren. Still dark. He shook the dragons from his skin and sent them scampering. They didn’t have much to explore, but they amused themselves with what he had. The bow was off limits. But they nudged out his tea set and music, rifled through his pictures, sent his books of poetry rioting off his desk.</p><p> </p><p>It was an end.</p><p>It was a beginning.</p><p>For the moment, it was enough.</p>
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